


Sweet as cherry wine

by everything_that_is_the_case



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: General Cruelty towards Scosner, Homophobia, Multi, Parental awkwardness, Some Fluff, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2019-12-26 19:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18288629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everything_that_is_the_case/pseuds/everything_that_is_the_case
Summary: Title taken from Hozier's Cherry Wine'The blood is rare but sweet as cherry wine'Scripps and Posner face the adversity of a relationship in the 1980's. Dakin's finally discovered the feeling of guilt and we meet the parents of Scosner.





	1. The hatred of a minute

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, my lovely readers! It's moi, back at it again after scrapping three pieces of work that I didn't like, even though I convinced myself they would be the best thing I'd ever written! But I finally got round to something I liked enough to post, and so here we have this monstrosity of a work. And I've managed to follow my rule of waiting for my work to get 30 hits before posting something else, so that's another good thing!  
> I hope you enjoy this, I've been so cruel to Scosner as per usual, but there's so much fluff in between to make up for it, and I even reached out to some Dakin/Irwin fluff. Look at me, maverick as ever!  
> Leave kudos, comment, whatever you want.  
> "Those who escape hell however never talk about it, and nothing much bothers them after that" - Charles Bukowski

“So what is it again?” Dakin asked, wrinkling his nose up in confusion as he frowned.

“Being asexual. I don’t feel sexual attraction,” Scripps shrugged.

“But how?” Dakin stared. “How do you live?”

“It doesn’t affect me. I don’t do it because I don’t want to, need to and to be honest, I don’t particularly like to,” Scripps explained calmly.

Dakin shook his head in bewilderment.

“You’re headed for the bins, mate. How’s Posner reacted to this?”

“He’s been surprisingly great about it,” Scripps blushed. “He said if that was how I felt, then I couldn’t help it. He reckons if I still love him then it doesn’t really matter,”

“But it doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Like I said, I don’t feel attraction to it. Just doesn’t excite me. And,” he smirked. “Unlike you, Dakin, I don’t live off caffeine and sex,”

Dakin scowled at him.

“And you don’t do it at all?” he questioned. “Never? Like the vow of celibacy thing?”

Scripps shrugged.

“Sometimes. It doesn’t mean I’m completely celibate. Plus, the whole ‘celibate till marriage’ wasn’t going to work if I was bi” he replied. “No marriage, not that you would likely care,”

“I might settle down one day,” Dakin grinned nonchalantly. “But then again, not everyone is as domestic as you, Scrippsy,”

Scripps half-heartedly threw one of Posner’s books at Dakin, grinning as he dodged it.

“Fuck off, Dakin. Just because I haven’t slept with three-quarters of Oxford doesn’t mean I’m domestic. And anyway, I thought things were going well between you and Tom?”

“They are,” Dakin laughed. “But old habits will die hard and all that. Still, appears I rather enjoy the inexpert male fumblings virtually on a daily basis,”

“I’m guessing neither of us were scarred for life,” Scripps replied with a wry smile, his mind flashing back to Dakin sauntering along the corridor, still lusting after the well-hidden reciprocations of love from Irwin. Got them now, he supposed. Or perhaps he’d stopped noticing quite so much about Dakin’s love life now that he was no longer jealous and alone. No more religion, either. That went down the pan the moment the bisexuality exploded like a bomb into his life.

“No. Although you do seemed to have turned against the old massage techniques. No more honour to keep intact either, I bet Posner made sure of that,” Dakin interrupted his memories, with all the arrogance of his eighteen year old self. No, a few years of culture and a reputation as a stud had elevated that immensely, making him insufferable as ever, yet still Scripps’ best friend. He could never wrap his head round why he’d stayed by his side for so long, but there was something about the irresistible charm of Dakin, something that enticed, excited and yet exasperated him to the point of not giving a shit. He supposed it was just laziness that had stopped him ending it in the first place, that and the ragtag band of boys he’d gathered together. Much more valuable friendships, a much more valuable relationship for Scripps anyway.

Scripps blushed and dragged himself out of the chair where he had lazily draped himself.

“Look, I promised David we’d meet him at the party. Are you coming or what?” he mumbled.

“Ah yes, the separation of the young lovers draws to its end. How long’s it been, six hours since you last saw him?” Dakin grinned, throwing his hand across his forehead in an overly-pedantic manner.

“Prick. I haven’t seen him for two days, he’s been staying with the boys in Cambridge for a bit. Wanted to see the architecture, see how it compared to the poetry,”

“Ugh. How sickeningly romantic of him,”

Dakin wandered over and grabbed his jacket from the coat hook, sliding it over his shoulders.

“Come on then. Bore me until you have a boyfriend to irritate,”

Dakin threw open the door and walked out, beckoning Scripps with a bored hand. Scripps rolled his eyes and followed him, pausing to lock the door on the way out. They walked along the streets, Dakin almost dancing in his movements, given the amount he twirled and turned to face Scripps. Not like Posner did. It was sweet when Posner did it, swinging around the lampposts until he span into Scripps’ arms, and god, Scripps missed the feeling of Posner in his arms. Two days was too much, far too much, to be separated from the everlasting colour, beauty and joy that flooded into his life with the presence of David Posner. Scripps mooched along in silence, hands buried deep in his pockets as Dakin rabbited on about him and Irwin, how well his life was going, how hard his work was, despite the fact they were doing the same degree and Scripps had never seen Dakin working. Just flirting and drinking, things Scripps never seemed to be doing.

At least when Posner was walking with him, his incessant chatter engaged and excited Scripps. Every sentence and question peppered with a smile from Scripps, a tiny nod of encouragement to tell him to keep talking, conversation filled with quotes and excerpts for Scripps to detect and find the sources for.

“Can you hear shouting?” Dakin questioned suddenly, frowning.

Scripps furrowed his brow, ears twitching for noise. He nodded slowly.

“It sounds more like screaming,”

“It sounds a lot like Posner’s voice, mate,”

Scripps nodded again, panic flooding his veins as he located the shouts. Fuck, it did sound like David. Worse, it sounded like David in pain, and it was coming from down the street. He broke into a run, Dakin dashing behind him as they careered down the pavement to the source of the commotion. The pavement blurred beneath him as they thundered along, turning the corner and stopping abruptly in front of a darkened alley. Scripps heart dropped as he spotted the cluster of lads squared up by the wall, surly looks on all their faces. And worse, in the middle, pressed up against the wall, a sobbing Posner, face twisted in agony.

There were four boys gathered around him, one pinning him against the cold brick wall as the other three jeered and laughed, grinding their fists into their palms. Posner’s nose was dripping scarlet blood, running onto his swollen, split lip. Tears ran down his face.

“Don,” he choked, eyes flickering with fear as he spotted the horrified pair. “Don,”

One of the boys turned and sneered at the two of them.

“Move along, mates,” he grunted. “Fag’s not worth saving,”

Dakin took a step forward, squaring up in a threatening stance.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I think he is. Get your hands off my mate,”

“You wouldn’t want him as a mate. He’s sick in the head, look at him,”

Posner whimpered as a spray of spittle washed over his face, projected by a scowling lad with a hand fisted in his shirt. Scripps took an instinctive step forward, reaching his hand out before stopping himself.

Dakin took another step forward, face just inches away from the thug’s.

“I think there’s only one of us here who’s sick in the head, and trust me, it isn’t him,” he growled.

The thug pushed him backwards and he stumbled slightly before swinging his fist into the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling onto the floor. One of his friend’s shouted in outrage and grabbed Dakin from behind. The lads broke formation, surrounding Dakin and dropping Posner. He screamed in pain as he crumpled to the ground, landing heavily on a clearly broken ankle. Scripps rushed over and propped him up against the wall, cupping his face in his hands.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, it’s ok, we’re going to help you,”

Posner nodded, clutching his ankle with a mangled hand, tears still streaming down his face. Scripps kissed him gently and started to pull him up. The kick sent him sprawling, a sharp smack in the ribs that made him spin across the ground. He attempted to scramble upwards, glaring at the glowering figure towering above him.

“So you’re one of those disgusting queers?” the man scowled.

“Yeah,” Scripps spat through gritted teeth. “Yeah, I am actually, and that’s my boyfriend so get the fuck away from us both,”

“Nah thanks, _mate,”_ he sneered. “See, me and my friends don’t think you and your filthy type should be allowed here. So we’re just doing the job that no one else has the balls to do,”

“My friends and I,”

“What?” the man frowned, grabbing Scripps’ collar and pulling him upwards, almost choking him.

“My friends and I. You said me and my friends, it’s grammatically incorrect,”

He knew it was petty, but god he loved the look on the man’s face as it contorted in rage. He clenched his jaw as the fist slammed into his cheek, a surge of pain rushing through his face. Posner cried out and one of the lads turned and sneered at him.

“Alright, poofter? How does it feel to be as low as you should be?”

Scripps squeezed his eyes shut as the boy delivered a debilitating kick to Posner’s ribs. Dakin was surrounded by two boys, one frantically trying to grab him as he punched the other. Scripps kicked upwards, kneeing the thug right where he needed to hit him. The man doubled over in pain, letting go of Scripps’ shirt. Scripps fruitlessly tried to run, tripping over the man’s foot and hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Pain rushed through his shoulder. He groaned and writhed miserably, trying to push himself up. A strong hand grasped the back of his neck and twisted him round, and he was staring up at the scowling youth again. Another glancing blow across his face, and he felt a trickle of blood run down his lips. Using all the force he had left, he twisted himself round until he was on top of the man, punching him with all his might. His entire body was taut with fury, each punch filled with hatred and anger. Strong hands grabbed him from behind and threw him to the ground. The man scrambled away as the lad who had been fighting Dakin pinned Scripps up against the wall. One of the other boys broke away from Dakin to grab the bleeding thug that Scripps had attacked, pulling him up and helping him run away, throwing a snarl back at Scripps as they ran. Dakin launched himself at the boy kicking Posner, tearing him away as Posner curled himself into a ball to protect himself, groaning in pain.

The cold brick wall slammed into Scripps’ back once more as a hand wrapped round his throat, pinning him backwards. He fought for breath, kicking out frantically.

“Get off me,” he choked.

“I don’t think so,” the thug sneered.

A spray of spit washed over Scripps’ face and he flinched away in disgust.

“You’ve no reason to do this,” Scripps gasped, pulling his hands away from his throat.

“Yeah we do,” the thug grimaced. “You’re sick. You and your freak of a boyfriend are sick. We’re making sure you don’t infect our country,”

“You’re the sick ones. Beating up innocent kids for their sexuality. If anyone’s a freak, it’s you, you and your psycho friends,” Scripps spat bitterly back at him.

A sickening crack rang out as the only other remaining boy slammed Dakin’s wrist against the floor and Dakin howled out in pain. Posner attempted to crawl away, collapsing slightly as his wrist gave way.

“David,” Scripps exclaimed, shaking his head frantically. “Don’t move, you’ll make it worse,”

“Oh how sweet!” the man growled, slapping Scripps across the face. Scripps gasped, his head turning to the side and hitting the wall. He grunted with pain.

“Get off my friends and I,” Scripps hissed back, savouring his little moment of grammatic victory.

A fist smacked into his gut and he doubled over, all the air knocked out of him. He panted, gasping for air as yet another fist slammed into him. The man turned back slightly, signalling to his colleague, still straddling Dakin as he slapped him across the face.

“Mate, back off. I’m going to sort this one out. Bit of a first warning, you might say,”

The other lad grinned devilishly as the thug holding Scripps punched his stomach with a mighty force. Posner screamed loudly as Scripps roared out. Pain shot through his body, fizzing electric bolts of pure burning agony.  The man pulled back and punched him again just above the last spot, and this time Scripps spotted the dark handle as it twisted slightly inside of him. Burning sensations ricocheted through his abdomen as the man dragged out the knife, blade glinting underneath the glistening red blood. He smiled evilly as the other boy let go of Dakin, running out of the alley. The thug let go of Scripps, letting him slide to the ground, clutching his stomach. He ran after his mate, grinning.

Dakin managed to pull himself up off the ground, wincing as he knocked his wrist ever so slightly. He ran over to Scripps, face blanched with horror. Scripps brushed his fingers against his side and groaned as he saw the blood decorating his hand.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, Dakin, help,”

Posner crawled over, dragging his injured leg behind him. Three of his fingers hung loosely on his hand, severely twisted and mangled.

“Don,” he sobbed, tears coursing down his face. “Don, I’m so sorry,”

Scripps shook his head, squeezing his eyes tightly together to block out the blinding white pain.

“I’m fine, I’ll be fine,”

“No, you aren’t. You’ve been stabbed Don, twice. I’m calling a fucking ambulance, try keep him awake, Posner,” Dakin replied, fear in his eyes. He stood and ran out of the alley, careering down the street towards the nearest phone box. Blood seeped through Scripps’ fingers, warm, hot and sticky, flowing uncontrollably. He tipped his head back and screamed in pain, making Posner cry out in worry. Gasping for breath, he pressed both of his hands against the wounds, trying to stop the red liquid. Posner clutched Scripps’ arms, holding him closer to his chest. He could feel Scripps’ blood soaking through his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Posner whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,”

“I’m fine,” Scripps mumbled back, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Please, I’ll be fine. It doesn’t hurt,”

“I think you’ve gone into shock, Don,”

“I’m not in shock. I can feel it bleeding. It’s just numb,”

Scripps clenched his jaw and let the tears flow.

“I don’t want to die,” he whimpered.

Posner laughed, almost hysterical with pain and fear.

“You aren’t going to die, Don. You’re going to be ok, you’re going to get through this,” he whispered.

True fear showed in Scripps’ eyes, pain and panic combining into one emotion of horror. He shook his head, coughing and hacking. Bile and blood spilled over his lips and he stared at the mixture in terror. Posner gently wiped his lips, trying to hide his angst. Scripps started to shake uncontrollably, sobbing as he shuddered.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I really, really, really love you, David Posner,”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say it like that, you aren’t going to die. We’re going to get through this,” Posner whimpered through his tears, clasping Scripps’ pale face in his hands.

Another rush of blood swept through his fingers and he moaned, pressing his head against the wall. He cupped a hand round Posner’s cheek and leant in, kissing him softly. His tears mingled with Posner’s, mixing them together in one stream. He curled his fingers slightly, dragging him in closer. But the effort of leaning forwards proved too much, a surge of blood running out of his injuries. He broke away, bellowing. Posner whimpered miserably.

Scripps took his hand away and stared in shock. A scarlet handprint decorated Posner’s bruised and bloodied cheek, and his lips were stained red with blood like cherry wine.

“I love you,”

Dakin ran over, crouching by their side as Scripps pressed his forehead against Posner’s.

“The ambulance is coming. Should be here in minutes,”

He started to rip off his jacket, balling it up and pressing it against Scripps’ stomach.

“They said we needed to apply pressure,”

Scripps nodded slowly. His eyes felt heavy, too heavy to keep open, and he closed them. He gasped as a sharp smack rang across his cheek. He opened his eyes and glared at a furious Dakin.

“Don’t close your eyes!” Dakin shouted. “I’m not losing you, Scripps, stay awake for us please,”

Scripps sobbed and leant back against the wall. He tipped his head back, letting loose a strangled groan. Posner shrieked as Scripps slumped back into the wall, his breathing heavy and laboured. It began to get shallower, lighter and almost inaudible. His eyes flickered closed and his mouth opened slightly.

“Don?” Posner whimpered. “Don, please open your eyes!”

He started to scream as Scripps remained silent, his face pale and drained of colour. A pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him away, ripping his hands off Scripps’ still shoulders.

“Calm down, calm down. Stop screaming. He’s still alive, he’s still breathing, you can hear him, can’t you?” Dakin whispered into Posner’s ear. “Listen, you can still hear him, he’s going to be fine. But you’ve got to stay calm, to try help him, alright?”

Posner breathed deeply, listening intently to catch the soft whistling echoing from Scripps’ mouth. Blood continued to pump through his wounds, coating Dakin’s jacket in slippery crimson liquid. Blue sirens wailed in the distance and Dakin started, twisting his head to watch for the flickering lights of the ambulance. His hands dropped away from Posner and he ran to the end of the street, signalling frantically for their saviours. The alley filled with flashing blue lights, hurting Posner’s eyes and ears as they screamed out. He felt like screaming with them. Paramedics rushed past him and he tried to grab Scripps’ limp hand as they lifted his body onto a stretcher, lifeless and pale. A young lady crouched down next to him and smiled kindly as she placed a caring hand on his shoulder.

“Is this your blood, love?” she asked calmly, squeezing his hand tightly. He shuddered in pain and she let go as she saw his broken digits, twisted and damaged. He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes to block out the flashing lights and thunder of running feet.

“It’s Don’s,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes welling with fresh tears. “Is he going to be ok?”

“Of course he is,” she replied, smiling bravely, trying and failing to hide the uncertainty behind her eyes. “He’s lost a lot of blood, and we need to see if he might’ve punctured an organ, but he’ll be fine, I’m sure,”

All of a sudden, the pain from every bruised, battered and broken part of Posner’s body crashed into him like a wave. Pain he had been ignoring to help Scripps, pain that now flooded back, fresh and gut-wrenching. He let out a stuttered gasp and a concerned frown marred the paramedic’s pretty features.

“How badly are you injured? I think you’ve broken your nose and fingers, but is there anywhere else?” she questioned worriedly.

“I can’t feel my leg,” he mumbled. “And I can’t move it either,”

Stiff joints and undulating waves of pain all of the way down his left leg, he thought. A clearly shattered and immovable ankle. He became acutely aware of the fresh, metallic blood dripping from his nose past his lips. His lips, coated in Scripps’ dried and crusted blood, sore and cracked from raw cries of anger.

“Alright, love,” she replied. “We’ll get you a stretcher, and we’ll make sure both your friends are ok. You’ll have some nice stitches to show off by the end,”

He was in too much agony, mental and physical, to protest about the patronising tone of it all, but really all he wanted right now was Scripps and some comfort. At least he could find one in the sugary, caring tones of the paramedic. Hands lifted him onto a soft stretcher and he cried out as his leg twisted underneath him. The cobbles were slick with blood, and each bump sent a bone-jarring crash through Posner’s body. He saw Scripps being lifted into an ambulance, oxygen mask obscuring his face, swarms of paramedics surrounding him as he bled continuously. A kindly middle aged man hoisted him up inside, where Dakin was already sitting, blood running from a gash across his eyebrow, clutching his injured wrist close to his chest.

“Is this your blood?” he asked and Posner squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out all the childish, anxious thoughts that always flooded his head. The thoughts that Scripps was so good at flushing away with a gentle kiss and a word of support.

“No,” he croaked back. “It’s my friends,”

You’ve already asked me this, he thought to himself. He opened his eyes just a sliver and stared at his shirt. Under the bright, fluorescent lights, his shirt was stained dark red, almost burgundy. No, not his blood. The blood of the boy in the next ambulance, bleeding to death with an oxygen mask and an IV drip to save him. The boy who should be here, kissing him, whispering to him, simply holding him in his arms. The boy who was going to die to save Posner’s life. A hand reached out and slipped into his. He smiled gratefully at Dakin, closing his eyes and leaning back to ignore the world as they jolted away.

“He’ll be fine, David,” Dakin murmured, and Posner realised it was the first (and last) time Dakin had ever called him by his first name. “We’ll go to the hospital, you’ll both get sorted out. I’ll call Tom, and I know both your home phone numbers for Sheffield,”

“Thanks, Dakin,” Posner whispered.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, unspoken words passing between Dakin and Posner in the form of held hands and bitten lips, anxious lips and tense shoulders. They drew up outside the hospital and the doctors rushed him straight through. He barely had time to spot Dakin’s concerned, furrowed brow before they were putting him into the x-ray machines, panicked, hushed whispers surrounding him.


	2. A mutual blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dakin has to face up to the consequences of the night in some difficult conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What up, my peeps! 'Tis I, back at it again. This chapter is basically a massive excuse for some Dakin/Irwin fluff, and I have no regrets! Well, I have some, as is always the way with my writing, but nothing will ever be perfect.   
> "My soul bleeds and the blood steadily, silently, disturbingly slowly, swallows me whole," - Fyodor Dostoevsky

Dakin was shaking as he dialled the numbers. His potted wrist hung limply by his side. Swirling thoughts mixed a cocktail of confusion inside his head. Oh god, everything the doctors had just told him. Posner’s injuries, Scripps’ wounds. Christ, Scripps was in emergency surgery as he dialled, hanging on a thin thread between life and death. Guilt twisted in his gut as he had lied to Posner, telling him that Scripps looked to be doing fine, and would probably make a full recovery. Oh, and Jesus, Posner’s injuries. Horrific, broken bones littered through his body, an ankle that would have to be reconstructed, a finger that hung at a peculiar angle, so badly broken that it could only be fixed in one specific position. His nose, when the dried blood had been cleared, had effectively imploded in on itself. Fuck, he’d been lucky to get away with a broken wrist and some bruised knuckles.

The familiar dial tone rang through his ears and he took a deep breath. 23:30. He hoped somebody would be awake.

 “Anna Posner speaking?”

She sounded bright, as if she’d been up for hours instead of minutes.

“Hi,” he replied, sniffing back his tears. “I’m Stuart Dakin, I’m a friend of David’s,”

“Hello, Stuart,” she answered, her voice cold and sharp suddenly. She never had liked him. “Why are you calling me?”

“I’m afraid there’s been an…an incident, Mrs Posner. David’s been injured in a fight,”

“How badly?”

“Two cracked ribs, a broken nose, three broken fingers, a broken kneecap and a shattered ankle. We don’t know how long he was being beaten up for, but it looked like most of the bones were broken by the time we got there,”

A sharp intake of breath from the end of the line, and he could tell she was holding back tears.

“Jesus Christ,” she murmured. “But why? Why would anyone attack David like that?”

Dakin kicked his shoe along the ground and bit his lip, twirling the cord round his finger anxiously.

“He was wearing a rainbow pin, Mrs Posner. A pro-gay badge,” he muttered.

“Oh god. Right, right. We’ll be up in the morning, thank you for calling me. Tell him we’re coming,” 

 

She hung up and the phone buzzed irately as he punched in the Scripps’ phone number.

 

“Hello?” A bleary voice answered.

“Hello,” he stuttered. “Is- is this the Scripps household?”

“Yes, Mrs Scripps speaking. Who is this?”

“Stuart Dakin. I’m a friend of Donald’s,”

He paused slightly, taking a moment to use Scripps’ Christian name. It felt appropriate for the severity of the conversation.

A sigh of recognition.

“Stuart, of course. Might I ask why you’re calling?”

 “I’m awfully sorry to have called so late, but there’s been an emergency, and I thought you should know before the hospital called in the morning, just in case,” he replied, anxiously clicking his fingers.

“An emergency?” Mrs Scripps’ voice quickened immediately, maternal instincts kicking in. “What’s happened?”

“We were on our way to a friend’s house,” Dakin started, carefully cultivating his words to fit the situation. “And we came across David being attacked by a group of thugs. We stepped in to stop them but there were too many and…and…”

His voice faded slightly as a lump rose into his throat.

“Mrs Scripps, I’m really sorry, but Don’s been stabbed,” he whispered.

A horrified sob echoed down the phone line.

“My Don? Oh God…” she replied, her voice strained with tears. “Is he still alive? How badly?”

“He’s still alive. He’s in emergency surgery as we speak, but the amount of blood he lost…” Dakin struggled against his own tears. “With the amount of blood he lost, they aren’t sure if he’ll survive the surgery,”

There was nothing but sobs from the other end as Dakin broke down, crying along with Scripps’ mother as the horror of the situation really hit him for the first time.

“And what about you and David?” she whispered. “How are you?”

“I’ve broken my wrist. Posner’s broken his nose, a few ribs, three fingers, his knee and his ankle. He’s got twenty stitches, and they need to perform an operation to pin his ankle back together, but otherwise he’s fine,”

He heard a deep breath at the other end of the line, followed by another hysterical sob.

“Mrs Scripps, I’m really, really sorry, we tried so hard to keep him awake and to stop him bleeding,” Dakin stumbled. “We should’ve stopped them, I’m sorry,”

His voice cracked as he continued to apologise, and he slowly realised that he wasn’t apologising to Mrs Scripps, but to his gut and his brain, and every part of his body that screamed that it was his fault; he could’ve stopped them, could’ve stopped Scripps from passing out, could’ve called the ambulance faster, and now Scripps was going to die, could already be dead and it was his fault.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“We’ll come up as soon as possible. Thank you for calling, Stuart,” she finally replied, her voice teary.

He hung up with a choked sob. One last phone call.

 

“Tom?” he whimpered.

“Stuart?”

Irwin’s concerned voice echoed down the line and he sighed in relief.

“Tom, please can you come and pick me up?” he asked quietly.

“I thought you were getting a lift home from Akhtar,”

“I’m not at the party,” he replied sadly. “I’m at the hospital,”

“Shit!” Irwin cried down the phone, panic resplendent in his dulcet tones. “What’s happened?”

“There was a fight. We found Posner being beaten up and we tried to help him but it all went really, really wrong and…”

He choked on his own tears, gulping rapidly to try calm himself.

“It’s alright, Stu. Slow down,”

“Scripps’ been stabbed,” he mumbled. “And Posner’s broken so many bones that he needs surgery, but Don’s in emergency surgery now and they don’t think he’s going to make it, Tom, and it’s all my fault,”

He started to cry, and heard Irwin gasp on the other end of the line.

“Are you alright?”

“I broke my wrist,” Dakin sobbed. “Please just come pick me up, Tom,”

He felt the words bubble off his lips before he realised what he was saying and he heard himself whimpering an admission he’d never made before.

“I’m scared, Tom,”

“Go to the waiting room. I’ll be there in 20 minutes, max, alright?” Irwin replied, worry straining the edges of his voice.

“Ok,” Dakin whispered. He hung up and stumbled his way back to the hospital, sinking into a chair. He sat there, completely numb, waiting for Irwin to come and save him, hold him in his arms, tell him that everything was going to be ok. Do all the things that Scripps couldn’t do for Posner as he lay on an operating table, bleeding profusely, as his parents frantically packed to come and see their child for what could be the last time. Things that Posner was dreaming of as he cried in the corridor of a crowded ward, tears mingling with the blood on his face, turning dried burgundy vibrant scarlet on his hands as he wiped away the droplets of emotion.

Irwin burst through the doors and ran towards Dakin, scooping him into his arms and hugging him close. Dakin burst into hysterical tears, sobbing into Irwin’s scrawny shoulders.

“It’s alright, Stu,” Irwin whispered soothingly. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault,”

Dakin continued to cry, ignoring the stares of the people around him, but then again, there wasn’t anybody staring. Because in a hospital waiting room, there is no judgement. No matter your age, race, gender or sexuality, they all understand that you are in pain. Whether it was your body or soul that bled, something about that mutual bleeding brings you together in a message of unity. A message of protection, a message of understanding, a message of love and pain shared and lost. A community built on pain, grief, longing and understanding, and in that moment, Dakin took full advantage.

“It’s alright, Stu. It’s not your fault,”

“It’s not your fault,”

_“It’s not your fault,”_


	3. Love breaks my bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dakin visits the boys in hospital, and realises just how big the impact is on their lives.
> 
> Title from Charles Bukowski   
> 'Love breaks my bones and I laugh'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After nearly a month, I have emerged from my dark blanket cocoon of writing and finally written the next chapter! Yes, here it is! This is it! It looks like this is going to be a long, long, long fic, so bear with me with this one, but I'm hoping all will be well. Not that I can say all will actually be well, because Scripps isn't looking great at the moment. 
> 
> "My God, to think it is gone forever. To think you are gone forever. I am terrified you are dead," - D.H Lawrence

Dakin approached the window cautiously, fidgeting nervously with his jacket zip. He peered through the glass and his heart sinks.

A pale, drained Scripps lay on a pale white hospital bed, hooked up to numerous drips and monitors. A dangling bag of burgundy swung over his head, attached to his arm by a thin plastic drip. He was so pale he almost blended into the sheets. A monitor bleeped steadily next to him, and Dakin could see it was dangerously low. His startling blue eyes were obscured by a pale veil of white, smattered with stand-out purple veins, his eyes firmly closed against the harsh hospital lighting. His sandy blonde hair stuck out at all angles, fluffed and puffy against the hospital pillows. He looked so serene, so asleep, so… He didn’t look alive, Dakin thought. And it scared him because five minutes later and Scripps might not have been alive. A nurse hurried over, flapping him away. He sighed.

“That’s an Intensive Care Unit, he’s not allowed visitors!” she tutted, pursing her lips.

“Sorry,” Dakin muttered. “He’s my mate,”

Her face softened slightly, and she patted his forearm gently.

“Well, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t make a difference,” she sighed. “Mr Scripps can’t have visitors, the risk of infection is too high,”

“Yeah, I know,” Dakin mumbled.

“Was there a specific reason you came to visit him?”

“I wanted to get some news on him. His boyfriend’s in the Orthopaedic ward, and he’s fucking distraught,”

Her lips pursed automatically as Dakin uttered the word ‘fucking’. He clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,”

“Well,” she sighed. “We can’t tell you much, but the surgery was successful. However it’s still very touch and go, and he won’t be allowed visitors for a good while yet,”

“Thanks,” Dakin smiled grimly. As she turned and left, he quickly huffed out a breath at the window, smiling triumphantly as the clean glass misted over. Carefully, he drew a smiley face in the window and placed his initials underneath. If he woke up, it would be nice for Scripps to know he’d visited.

Dakin entered the ward silently, making his way down to the bed at the end. A small, fragile figure in crumpled blue pyjamas lay there, staring straight up at the ceiling. A large white plaster pot encased their leg, and their fingers and face were swathed in medical tape and bandages.

"Hi Pos," he exclaimed quietly, sitting on the empty chair next to the bed.  
Posner didn't reply, simply turning his head away.

"Did your parents turn up? I know they were going to come down yesterday,"

Posner nodded mutely. Dakin smiled sympathetically and slipped his hand into Posner's, letting it lie on the bed with their fingers intertwined.

"It's nice in this ward, isn't it?" he forced a smile, gazing around the clinical white room with its drab grey furnishings. "Lots of decent looking nurses too. Not that you'd notice, I suppose,"

A flicker of a smile flashed across Posner's face momentarily, but still he didn't reply. Dakin nodded in acceptance and mimed zipping his mouth shut, grinning as Posner giggled quietly. God, it was like entertaining a child. Except Posner effectively was a child, being only nineteen. Dakin sighed sadly. They sat in silence for a while, time leaking away, fading to nothingness. Finally Posner spoke, still not looking at Dakin.

"How is he?"

Dakin took a deep breath and clutched his hand tighter.

"He made it through the surgery," Dakin whispered. "But apparently it's really touch and go at the moment,"

Posner's face crumpled slightly and Dakin felt a stab of guilt twisting in his gut.

"He's fighting, Pos, don't you worry. Most people wouldn't have survived the ambulance journey, let alone the surgery, so he's really, really fighting," he blurted quickly.

A silvery tear rolled down Posner's pale cheek.

"It's my fault," he whispered. "He was trying to help me and now I've killed him,"

Dakin's face fell as Posner started to sob, fat tears dripping down his face.

"No, no, it's nobody's fault!" He babbled. "Course it isn't your fault, Pos!"

Awkwardly, he started to bite his lip, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. If he had been Scripps, he would've known what to do. If Scripps had been there, he would've kissed away Posner's tears and whispered sweet nothings to soothe him, pressing their foreheads together and promising that everything was going to be alright. But he wasn't Scripps, and he couldn't do those things, because Scripps was three wards away in a room of his own, unconscious and being watched by his hysterical parents.

"Pos," he whispered finally. "You can't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault at all,"

No, he thought, not Posner's fault. His fault, his fucking fault for not fighting away the people hurting Scripps, for thinking he could look after himself, for starting the fight in the first place. His fault entirely, despite anything Irwin could tell him.

Posner choked another sob, shoulders shuddering. Dakin blushed as a nurse bustled in with a concerned look on her face.

"Are we back with the tears again, Mr Posner?" She asked worriedly. "Can I ask who your visitor is?"

"Dakin," Posner choked.

"Alright duckie," the nurse replied. "Do you mind if I have a word with him?"

Posner shook his head miserably. Dakin stood up and followed the nurse into a side office, anxiously brushing his hands down on his jeans. She marched him into the sparsely furnished room, with a laminated wood desk piled high with scattered folders and files, littered with capless pens. She shut the door carefully and turned to him with anxiety clear in her eyes.

“Mr Dakin. You’re the first person Mr Posner’s spoken to for the past two days, and I was hoping you could answer me some questions about him,” she exclaims quietly and politely, her tone hushed and firm.

“Of, of course,” Dakin stuttered. “I don’t spend much time with him but I’ll try my best,”

He regrets that, he thought. Not spending enough time with Posner. Usually he was just somebody who trailed along with Scripps, who Scripps was totally enamoured with. Through high school, he’d just viewed him as Posner, the weird, queer Jewish kid who Scripps had forced the boys to accept into the group when he realised he was alone. Something to be ridiculed. Teased. Made fun of. Something to be looked down upon when he had a crush on Dakin. Just a new toy to play with, break and throw away once he got bored. And now Dakin had a boyfriend and a sense of pride, and a little smatter of shame for the way he’d treated Posner.

“We’ve had…struggles, getting through to him,” the nurse started carefully. “He’s obviously very upset by the incident, but the only thing he’s said so far is asking the nurses how Don is? And when we can’t answer, he’s been working himself up and getting very upset,”

“Don’s his boyfriend,” Dakin blurted out, interrupting her. “Donald Scripps. He got stabbed trying to protect Posner from the thugs,”

“The thugs?” the nurse frowned.

“The ones who beat Posner up for being gay. The reason they’re both here and the reason I have this beauty,” Dakin smiled grimly and waved his potted wrist.

“We were aware Mr Posner was in a targeted incident, but we didn’t know other people were involved, or that it was because of his sexual orientation” the nurse replied, clearly shocked. “My goodness. How old is the poor thing?”

"He's 19. Nearly twenty," Dakin sighed. "And it makes me sick that somebody did that to him,"

"Look at him," the nurse sighed, turning to the window with a worried expression. "19 years old and he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. Nineteen! He's just a child. A child. Why would somebody do that to him?"

She turned to Dakin with anguish in her eyes.

"I've got a son who's nineteen, and I've just sent him to university. I can't imagine getting the phone call that he'd been attacked. The most gut-wrenching moment of a parent's life is to hear their child's been injured, and to know that it was done on purpose?!" She shook her head. "It's not right,"

"No. No, none of its right," Dakin sighed. "None of it at all,"

She walked out of the office, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. Dakin caught the words as they floated through the air.

"Nineteen years old,"

Dakin followed her back out onto the ward, heading to Posner’s bedside.

“Are you leaving?” Posner whimpered, gazing at him with tear-filled eyes.

“Yeah,” Dakin replied, guilt rising from the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, I think it’s for the best, don’t you?”

Posner nodded miserably. He reached out a trembling hand and grabbed Dakin’s arm weakly as he turned to leave.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” he begged, desperation cutting through his tones. “Please. I don’t like it here without Don,”

Dakin stared at him for a while, tears rising in his eyes as he watched Posner’s desperate face morph into one of a child’s, sitting there begging for a friend.

“Yeah,” he choked. “Course I will, Pos,”

Posner smiled and sank back into the pillows, closing his eyes.

“Thanks, Dakin,” he mumbled, drifting off to sleep without a second thought.

Dakin remembered something, and fumbled in his back pocket to bring out a battered, muddy rainbow pin he’d found on the floor just before they led him to the ambulance. He rolled it in his fingers, gazing at Posner’s limp frame. Maybe, he thought. Not just yet. Posner’s mind was probably too fragile to see the pin that had caused him so much pain. Too scared to unabashedly proclaim his sexuality. He put it back into his pocket with a sigh, and walked out with a sad little smile.


	4. The Irony of it All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dakin hits some unwanted realisations as Posner's worries start to worsen. Scripps gets a horrified shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exactly a month later, I am back, alive and kicking! And in this chapter, we find out if Scripps is! Huzzah! After weeks of procrastinating (mainly watching Russell Tovey shows. I may be obsessed with The Job Lot), I have finally written this for you lot and I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> "About suffering they were never wrong, the Old Masters" - W.H Auden
> 
> Please leave comments or kudos if you enjoy, I always appreciate feedback.  
> "Sometimes I feel so stupid and dull and uncreative that I am amazed when people tell me differently" - Sylvia Plath

Pain. Blinding pain. Ricocheting round his body, thundering through his veins, burning like fire in his blood. His eyes flickered open and he winced as the harsh lights shone brightly in his eyes. His body felt heavy and limp, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. He tried to open his mouth and felt the tight constraints of a mask obscuring his face. His eyes closed again, drooping slowly over his blurred vision.

“Don?” a far-away voice gasped. They sounded like they were underwater. Maybe they were. Where was he? “Don, love, it’s your mother!”

He forced his eyes open again, trying to stop himself from slipping under the inviting blanket of sleep that threatened to envelop him. He saw a blurred figure hovering above him, worried look on their face.

“Mum?” he tried to choke, but whatever was covering his face swallowed his voice whole. With extreme effort, he moved his heavy arm over to his face. His fingers scrabbled at the mask, but he didn’t seem to have all of them and so they were useless. He fumbled with it more, to no avail.

“No, no!” his mother’s panicked voice floats into his ears. “Don, love, you mustn’t try and take that off,”

He tried to speak again, but he couldn’t. Hot, fat tears filled his eyes. They rolled steadily down his cheeks as his body started to shake.

“Oh sweetheart,” she whispered, stroking them away with her soft finger. “No need to cry,”

“I want…” he forces out. “I want it off,”

“I’ll have to get a doctor, love,”

He attempted to shift over to face her but she whimpered reluctantly and he stopped as she shook her head frantically.

“You’ll burst your stitches,” she muttered quietly. “You’re very delicate at the moment, sweetie. You mustn’t injure yourself,”

His face crumpled again and she pressed a soft hand to his face.

“Oh love, hey love,” she whispered soothingly. “It’s alright, alright. You’ve had a nasty shock. I’m going to get a doctor, ok? I’m going to try and help you,”

She stood up and bustled out of the hospital room, leaving Scripps alone in his cold, crisp bed. He stared up at the plain, white ceiling, his vision blurred by tears. He didn’t know where he was. Dull, throbbing aches of pain ricocheted around his body, sending waves of agony streaming through him. His mother returned with a lady in a white coat and Scripps tried to sit up to see who it was. A haze of nausea rushed through him and he collapsed weakly back onto the pillow.

“Hello, Mr Scripps,” the woman spoke softly. “I’m Doctor Branning, and I’ve been looking after you while you’ve been on my ward. Your mother said you’d like me to take off your oxygen mask, and I might need to ask you a few questions,”

Wards. Doctors. Oxygen Mask? Fuck, Scripps thought. He was in hospital, wasn’t he? Why was he here? His memory felt foggy and buried as he scrambled to remember what was going on. Gentle skin brushed against his face as she slowly unhooked the mask from around his face.

“I’m just going to warn you that breathing without the mask is going to feel a little different,” she warned him, before taking the mask away from his face. He opened his mouth and gasped a deep, stuttering breath, forcing the air into his lungs.

“Do you know where you are, Mr Scripps?” she asked quietly, gazing at him with visible concern in her eyes.

“Hospital,” he choked through cracked, swollen lips. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, and pain shot through him as his lips twisted in the effort of speaking.

“Do you know why you’re here?” she whispered gently, and he felt his mother clasp his hand as tears filled her eyes. He racked his memory, frantically trying to recollect the incidents. His memory remained blank, no matter how hard he forced himself to think.

“I can’t remember,” he whimpered, tears filling his eyes. “I can’t remember, Mum, why can’t I remember?”

“Don’t worry, love,” she whispered back, stroking his hand gently. “It’s alright,”

The doctor scribbled something on the clipboard hanging on the end of his white, iron bed.

“What are you writing?” his mother asked worriedly, biting the edge of her lip.

“It’s important that I write down things such as memory loss, Mrs Scripps. Recording things such as this is vital to ensuring Donald’s recovery goes smoothly,”

“What happened?” Scripps croaked, his voice hoarse and rough after days without use.

The doctor hesitated slightly, throwing a glance to Mrs Scripps.

“From what we’ve gathered from your friends, I’m afraid you were involved in a fight, Mr Scripps, and you seem to have taken a bad beating from the event,” she explained carefully. “In terms of injury, you’ve suffered a linear fracture to the skull, which explains the memory loss, a few broken fingers, some nasty bruising, and…”

She hesitated again.

“Mr Scripps, I’m afraid one of the members of the gang had a knife, it seems. And I’m very sorry, Mr Scripps, but they have used it against you,”

“What?” Scripps whispered, fear entering his eyes.

“Mr Scripps, I’m sorry to say you’ve been stabbed,” she exclaimed quietly.

She remained silent to let the news sink in. Scripps lay there in shock as his mother stroked his hand gently, holding back her own tears.

“Stabbed?” he repeated bewilderedly, rolling the unfamiliar word around his mouth. “Stabbed?”

“It’ll be alright, love,” his mother pressed her lips together to stop herself crying.

“You’ve been stabbed twice in the abdomen. You’ve been very lucky to not pierce any internal organs, but your wounds have been healing up nicely,” Doctor Branning smiled cautiously. “And you’ve had plenty of visitors, which is always nice,”

“Has David visited?” he muttered groggily.

“Oh love,” his mother murmured. “Oh love, you can’t remember anything, can you?”

“No,” Scripps shook his head effortfully. “Why? What’s happened?”

“Love, your friend Stuart says you were fighting because some people attacked David,”

“What?”

“He’s in hospital with you now, Don. He’s broken a few bones, but he’s alright, I promise,” she smiled sadly.

“Mr Scripps, are you in any pain?” the doctor asked calmly.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “Head hurts. Stomach hurts,”

“I’ll go get something for you,” she smiled sympathetically and walked out.

“Is David ok?” Scripps asked worriedly as soon as she left, fear growing in his pale, tear-filled eyes.

“He’s fine, he’s fine. A bit shaken up, but he’s been worrying about you,”

Scripps smiled contentedly, his eyes drifting shut as he sank into the colourless pillow.

“I’m tired,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Go to sleep, love,” she whispered, tenderly stroking his bruised face.

His eyes snapped open again and he gazed at her concernedly.

“Stay,” he muttered. “Stay, please,”

“Of course I’ll stay, Don sweetheart,” she murmured sweetly.

“Mum, I’m scared,” he whimpered, tears starting to gather in his eyes.

“Why are you scared?”

“I don’t know,” Scripps shook his head frantically, tears pouring down his face. “I don’t know,”

She brushed away his tears softly, smiling sadly and stroking his hair with her spare hand.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” she murmured again. “Go to sleep, I’ll be here,”

He closed his eyes, sniffing back his tears as he drifted away to sleep.

***

"I went to see Posner today," Dakin spoke quietly, staring down at his plate. 

"I thought you'd been a little bit quiet," Irwin sighed. "How was he?"

"Didn't speak for about half an hour. Asked how Scripps was then burst into tears and said it was all his fault," Dakin replied. "The nurse says he hasn't stopped crying since he got in. They're giving him sleeping pills because it's waking the other patients and they don't have an extra room for him," 

Irwin sighed deeply and rested his head on his hand.

"Stu, you can't let it get to you. Posner's always been a bit highly strung, and it's obviously been upsetting for him to go through this," Irwin replied. 

"But the stuff that the nurse told me, Tom, you didn't hear it!" Dakin cried. "He's nineteen! He's a fucking kid, Tom! He can't handle that kind of thing, it's not fucking right!"

Irwin reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. 

"Stu, none of its right, but it won't change anything by shouting about it," he pleaded.

"Scripps has a seventy percent chance of survival. What if Posner's first relationship ends with his boyfriend dying, and he thinks it's his fault?" Dakin gazed at Irwin, tears filling his eyes. "It'll fucking break him, Tom. It'd break all the boys to lose one of us lot, and Scripps is like the secret glue of the entire group. He's the peacemaker, the one who stops us doing stupid things, the one who makes sure everyone is alright. We can't lose him!”

Irwin walked over and rested his hands on Dakin's shoulders, massaging them gently.

"He'll be alright, Stu. I'm sure of it," he whispered, bending to press a soft kiss to the top of Dakin's ear. Dakin squirmed beneath him, brow furrowed. 

"Why don't we try and take your mind off it?" Irwin whispered into his ear, his fingers flickering from his shoulders to his collar, deftly undoing the first two buttons on Dakin's shirt. 

"I'm not in the mood, Tom," Dakin growled. 

Irwin sighed and lifted his hands from Dakin's collarbone, moving to sit down again. 

"It's properly shaken you up, hasn't it?"

"I can't stop thinking," Dakin muttered. "About what else they would've done to me if they'd known about you. If they'd known I wasn't straight,"

He looked up at Irwin, tears filling his eyes. 

"What if it had been us, Tom? What if one of us got attacked and the other one got stabbed? Would you be telling me I was just highly strung?"

"No," Irwin sighed, shaking his head. "No, I wouldn't, you're right,"

"It's not right, Tom," Dakin whispered. "It isn't fair that they would do that to Posner. He's always been so small and sweet and innocent and then they do that and it's like he's tried to grow up in a day and failed. Nobody should have to go through that,"

"They shouldn't. They shouldn't, but people will and you have to accept that, Stu. You've got to understand that we aren't accepted as widely as we'd like to think. Fuck it, when you go back to Sheffield with a boyfriend, what would they say?"

"They'd call me a bender. A queer. A poofter," Dakin mumbled. He looked up and guilt framed his face. "They'd call me everything I used to call Posner," 

***

He walked into the ward and made his way down the familiar route to Posner’s bed. He was surprised to hear voices echoing from behind the thin blue curtain. He pulled it to the side to reveal an older couple sitting next to Posner’s bed, concern marring their faces as they clutched Posner’s hand.

“Dakin,” Posner gazed at him with an odd half-smile . “You came back,”

“Yeah,” Dakin smiled weakly. “Course, I promised didn’t I?,”

“Did you hear?” he mumbled back. “Don’s woken up,”

“That’s great,” Dakin smiled apprehensively. “Really, Pos, it’s brilliant,”

“I’m not sure if it is,” Posner muttered worriedly, biting the edge of his lip. “What if he hates me?”

“What?”

“I’m scared he’s going to hate me because it’s my fault he got stabbed,” Posner twisted the sheets under his white, trembling fingers, pale tears threatening to pour down his cheeks.

“No it isn’t, Pos,” Dakin grimaced. They’ve been through this. It’s his fault. He didn’t help them, and a deep sense of overwhelming guilt and shame rose up from his stomach. “Look, if I know Scripps at all, and I bloody do, being his friend since I was six, it’s that he’s fucking obsessed with you. He loves you, he adores you. Nothing will change that, not even a bloody stab wound,”

Posner smiled weakly.

“You think?” he whispered.

“Yeah. If I’m sure of anything, it’s that,” Dakin grinned. Posner smiled again, brighter and stronger. Dakin gulped nervously.

“Are you alright, Dakin?” he frowns, tipping his head to the side.

Dakin knew it was the type of head tilt that melted Scripps’ heart and he could sort of see why. Not as cute as the way Tom did it though. Although that was more of a sexy thing. Posner’s head tilt was childish and sweet. Even through the bruises smattered across his face, Dakin could see the childlike innocence in his eyes, that burning, smoking excitement flickering inside the deep blue iris. The nerves rose up in his throat again and he swallowed them down with a forced smile.

“Fine, Posner,” Dakin forced through gritted teeth. “Really,”

“No you aren’t,” Posner sighed. “I’m rather alright at reading people, Don says. And you definitely aren’t,”

“Well,” Dakin stuttered. “It’s come to my attention…that…that I’ve been a bit of a twat. To you, but not exclusively, but mainly to you,”

Posner’s parents frowned as he continued.

“It’s just…the accident made me realise that some of the things I’ve said and done might not…well, not might, they haven’t been ok. And I’m properly sorry Pos, I really am,”

“Oh,” Posner appeared startled, gazing at him with raised eyebrows. “Oh right. What brought this on?”

“A mixture of guilt and Tom,” Dakin blushed.

Posner laughed.

“Well, that’s alright,” he grinned. “I’d got over that a while ago,”

Dakin breathed a sigh of relief.

“Would you pop in and see Scripps if you can? Only I’m not allowed to go see him,”

“Yeah, course,” Dakin replied, relieved. “Report back to you in an hour, alright?”

He mock-saluted and Posner giggled happily.

“Bye Dakin,” he smiled.

“Later, Posner,”


	5. The Old Brag of My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posner faces up to some hard truths he needs to let out. Dakin is shocked by his old friend's behaviour...and nobody wants to go to bloody therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I took a break....I lost the spark...I went on a trip....I broke a printer...I found the spark. Welcome back, old friend Monstrosity Fic, a big ole' welcome back. So I hope you guys can enjoy an angsty, parent filled, totally not written in one sitting between the hours of 23:11 and 01:04 while watching the Edge of Seventeen and crying... So yeah. Thanks for staying, thanks for reading, thanks for sticking by some weird author who writes at the dead of night then abandons their work for months. You guys are cooler than an 18 year old Dakin. And hopefully, you're all a lot less of a twat.
> 
> "I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart" - Sylvia Plath

Posner had always been chatty. Always, from the moment he could speak, he would follow his parents around, blabbering gibberish in the hopes of attention and conversation. Yet those past few days, he’d never felt so quiet. It’s like the world had exploded around him, this dizzying mess of sound and lights and fear and guilt and sickness, and he’s terrified of it. He wanted to sit there and feel the calm in his veins. Make the whole world feel the same way he did, the quietness that swallowed his words and made him drift off into space so that he tried to ignore everything around him.

Posner’s parents have never been chatty. They used to talk to him about school, or his sister, or his religion and the plans for celebrating the holidays that year, but they were never…chatty. They never wanted to talk about silly little things, things that didn’t matter, throwaway chats like the type he would have with Rachel at midnight, when she would scoop little 11 year old him into her 16 year old superhero arms and snuggle under the covers with a torch and a book. Those were the things Posner missed most when she left for university. The midnight cuddles, the throwaway chats, the hugs when he had nightmares and his father told him to grow up because he was too old for all that nonsense. Except now instead of soft patterned coverlets, he’s sitting underneath crisp, white hospital sheets, and the nightmares he had were allowed because the hospital psychiatrist thought he had PTSD or some sort of trauma, and Rachel’s nowhere to be seen because she had a life in Scotland with her new boyfriend and she didn’t talk to her family very much anymore. And…and his parents have gone chatty.

They talked constantly. His mother’s grip tight on his hand as she tried to make her distant son laugh. Tried fruitlessly to make the glassy look in his eyes pass away so she would have some more of her old David back. He’d always been quiet and reserved around her and his father, but she remembered a chatty side to him from when he was maybe 14 or 15, and she wanted it back. But the only people she’d ever seen make David truly smile in the past few years were Rachel, and that Don boy he was constantly talking about. Don. The boy who got stabbed for her son, and she had an inkling she knew why, but she didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to confirm her fears and lose what little knowledge of her son she had left.

Posner wasn’t sure his parents knew about him and Scripps. They knew Scripps had been stabbed. Knew he had been protecting Posner. But he didn’t know what the hospital or Dakin had told them, if they knew he was gay, or that he and Scripps were a couple. He suspected even if they hadn’t been told, his mother knew. There was a look of sad disappointment in her eyes when she gazed at him or when he talked about Scripps, who was the only thing he was really talking about these days. His parents let him at first, but he could tell his father was getting irritated by the constant Scripps talk. Only…only he wanted to see Scripps. But to see Scripps he would need a reason and he would have to tell them why he cared so much. A vortex of fear swirled in the pit of his stomach, never ending, and he knew that he wasn’t ready but he wanted Scripps and God, oh God, what did he do, did he tell them and then the words tumbled off his lips before he could stop them.

“I’m gay,” he exclaimed hoarsely, interrupting his mother’s stream of talking. She stopped, sighed and the disappointment entered her eyes again. She leaned in and kissed the side of his head, gently stroking his hair.

“I know,” she whispered sadly.

“Don’s my boyfriend,” he added, still staring into the distance and ignoring her.

“I know that too,” she nodded quietly. “That’s ok,”

Posner still stared into the distance before speaking again.

“Rachel knows,” he muttered.

“I guessed she would,” his mother smiled sadly. “You two were always close,”

“Will she come see me?” he asked, his voice hopeful while his eyes remained distant and straight ahead. His mother glanced worriedly at his father and her smile slipped slightly.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” 

She didn’t tell him about his sister’s refusal to talk to the family anymore. She didn’t want to hurt him any further. She patted his arm gently and smiled.

“Are you a bit tired, love?” she asked with a forceful edge to her tone. “Do you want to go to sleep?”

“Not real-“ Posner replied but his father leaned forward and interrupted him, a glare in his eyes.

“You’ll have plenty of time to chat with your mother when you’re down in Sheffield with us,”

“What?” Posner frowned. “I’m not going to Sheffield, I want to stay here with Don,”

“You’ll be fine without him,” his father replied firmly. “You’re only 19, anyway. Too young to think that you’re…gay,”

Posner stared at his father, tears filling his eyes as he saw the look of disgust in the coldness of his father’s blue eyes.

“No need to cry, love,” his mother smiled hurriedly, patting his hand. “I’m sure we’ll sort something out, won’t we?”

She gazed imploringly at his father, a steel glint in her eyes.

“Go to sleep, David darling,” she touched his cheek softly. “We’ll visit again soon,”

He nodded and slumped back onto the freshly fluffed pillows. His parents stood solemnly and exited, his mother drawing the light blue curtain around his bed, blocking out the rest of the ward and shielding him from others. He let his eyes drift closed before his parent’s voices drifted through the thin cotton.

“Going back to Sheffield?” Mrs Posner hissed venomously. “What were you thinking?”

“Well, he’s not staying here!” Mr Posner exclaimed, his voice dripping with disgust and anger. “Not among this influence of filth, not where he’s been made to think he’s…he’s like that!”

“I’m not exactly comfortable with it myself, Michael, but it’s making him open up! That’s the first time he’s spoken all week, it’s making him happy!”

“Happy? Happy?” his father’s voice raised slightly in incredulousness. “It’s bloody dangerous, that’s what it is! Look where it’s landed him! Full of broken bones and bruises, and reduced to tears every time he speaks! Pathetic, it is, what this has done! And his supposed boyfriend, getting bloody stabbed! Our son could’ve died! Is that what you want, Anna, is it?!”

There was silence behind the curtain and Posner could tell his mother was drooping slightly, bending to his father’s will as she always did. There’s a deep sigh.

“Michael, what if it helps him? To recover, or to talk, to be near him?”

“Nonsense. That boy is what got him here in the first place. The best thing to do is to get him far away from that boy and get him far away from where this happened to him. That’ll be what helps him!”

Footsteps loudly stormed out of the ward. Another heavy sigh and lighter footsteps traipsed out of them. A hand flung the curtain open again and he sighed, sinking back into the pillows.

“Good afternoon, Mr Posner!” the same nurse from before, loud, round and bustling, smiled at him as she walked in and started to check his drips.

“David,” he groaned miserably as she threw back his blanket and lifted up his cast, turning his leg slightly. “My name is David,”

“Cheer up, chuck,” she smiled kindly. “Feeling down isn’t going to make you heal better, sweetie. And look at that, you’re speaking to me now! Leaps and bounds!”

He chuckled lowly.

“I really hope you’re being sarcastic,” he muttered.

“Somebody is feeling chirpy, this is practically a conversation now!”

“I like conversation,” Posner sighed. “Takes away from all my bloody studying, doesn’t it? And now it just gives me a distraction from meds,”

“You don’t talk much, for somebody who like conversation, do you duckie?” she laughed. “This is the most you’ve spoken all week,”

“I only talk to the people worth talking too, and most of them are back at Oxford or in this hospital,” he muttered. “Nowadays I talk to people and everybody else says they’re just hallucinations, but I don’t believe them. Sir Walter Raleigh is an avid conversation maker!” 

“Dark sense of humour, hmm? Who’s Sir Water Ralley then?”

“Walter Raleigh. Tudor explorer, friend of the Queen. Got beheaded,” Posner frowned.

“You know your history then?”

“I’m doing it at Oxford,”

“Ooh, somebody’s smart!” she laughed. “Have they been smart enough to take all their pain medication, or is that what’s making them grouchy?”

“I have, but I wouldn’t mind a top-up?” Posner tilted his head, wincing, before smiling hopefully.

“Cheeky bugger,” she laughed again. “Scale of 1-10?”

“You’ve got me,” he rolled his eyes. “Maybe a three. Emotional level though….well, that needs discussing,”

She smiled slightly worriedly this time.

“Actually, dearie, you’ve got a chat with one of the therapists later tomorrow. Let’s see if you can co-operate as well as this with them, shall we?” she replied hesitantly, and walked out before he could protest.

***

Dakin walked into the ward that evening, box of chocolates in tow. He’d heard tales of improvements in Posner’s mood – talking, chatting even, just…just finally being generally responsive. Not unusually, Posner was a bit of a let-down. He was simply lying there, staring up at the ceiling, his useable fingers curled in the sheets. Dakin waved the chocolates awkwardly and sat in the cold plastic seat.

“Brought Black Magic,”

He would usually run a hand over his perfectly styled hair but…but his broken wrist. His damn wrist which meant he could barely do anything. He’d even had to get Tom to do his bloody hair that morning, despite his protestations that it looked fine all curly, and it wasn’t like it usually was and it had thrown him off-centre all bloody day. Hair was bloody everything. That was why women said beauty was pain. At least it was this morning, with Tom trying to comb his fucking hair.

“Scripps said you don’t like them as much, so I thought they might last you longer,”

Posner didn’t respond, still staring. Always bloody staring. Dakin wondered what he looked at. It wasn’t exactly interesting, a hospital ward ceiling in pure bloody white. Not even a pattern. 

“Dakin,” Posner spoke finally, his voice a hoarse whisper. “What did you tell my mum when you called her? About why it happened?”

Dakin shrugged, anxiously fidgeting with his fingers.

“I said you were wearing a pro-gay badge,” he muttered. “Didn’t think it’d be fair to out you when you were already struggling so much,”

“I had to tell them,” Posner whispered.

“Oh Pos,”

“I wasn’t ready,” Posner continued, not turning his head. Dakin saw a pale, glistening tear roll down his cheek and stain the white sheets. He watched the pool of grey form as Posner started to speak again. “I wasn’t ready, Dakin, I didn’t want to tell them yet and I had to because I was so scared about Don,”

He started to shake as he fought back more tears, inhaling deeply.

“And you can tell my dad hates me, you can see it in his eyes, and you can physically feel the disappointment radiating from my mother every time they visit me,” he forced out. “That she’s got a son who can’t even protect himself, who can only lie in a hospital bed and cry himself numb about a boy she never wants to meet out of shame,”

Dakin felt a rush of pity and guilt running through him. He squeezed Posner’s hand gently, trying not to jar his damaged fingers.

“It’ll be alright, Pos, it will,”

“Oh yeah, of course it fucking will if Dakin says it will,” Posner spat bitterly. “What did you say to your parents when you came out? ‘Hey Mum and Dad, I’ve decided I like shagging blokes too, hope you don’t mind’? And I bet they didn’t either, because you’re the fucking golden boy aren’t you?”

“Woah, woah, what the fuck Posner, where is this coming from?” Dakin yelped. “I fought too, I got injured too!”

“I know, Dakin, you started the bloody fight!”

“What, you would’ve preferred to let them just beat you to death?”

“Yes!” Posner yelled furiously, tears rolling down his cheeks. “At this moment in time, yes, because then I wouldn’t be stuck in a fucking hospital room staring up at the ceiling while my father figures out ways to quietly disown me!”

“What the hell, Pos?” Dakin stared at him, crest-fallen. “You want to be dead?”

“Do you know what this is like, Dakin? To just sit in a hospital bed with my disgusted parents, waking up everyone in the ward because I scream in my sleep, constantly being on the edge of tears and replaying every moment of my boyfriend’s stabbing in my mind?” Posner stared back, lip trembling. “I’m so sick of it. I just want to go home. I want to go back to Don, back to normal, back to Oxford, I would do anything to be out of here,”

“Does anybody know you feel like this?” Dakin asked seriously. Posner snorted with laughter and slumped back into the pillows.

“Apparently I’ve got therapy tomorrow,” he mumbled.

“Well that sounds shit,” Dakin replied moodily. Posner shifted over and stared at him intensely. Dakin stared back until suddenly they were both giggling hysterically, the tears rolling down their cheeks turning from sorrow and self-pity to mirth.

“Why are we laughing?” Posner giggled hysterically.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Dakin laughed. “Just the way you were bloody staring and you sounded so morose and….”

“Oh yeah, make fun of my suicidal self-pity speech!” Posner retorted. “Give me some respect, I’m going mad in here! Laughing at nothing with Stuart Dakin for company!”

“Always laugh. It is the cheapest medicine,” Dakin replied through chuckles and Posner groaned, trying to roll over and failing.

“No, no, no!” he moaned, throwing a melodramatic arm off his chest, leaving it hanging limp over the edge of the bed. “Don’t give me fucking Byron! Not now! If there wasn’t enough reasons to want to be dead!”

Dakin burst out laughing all over again, and they were still laughing twenty minutes later when a sour-faced nurse came in to tell them they were disturbing other patients. Dakin knew it wasn’t the end of visitor time yet, but she still made him leave. Dakin never thought he’d be kicked out of a hospital ward before, especially not because of David bloody Posner, but here he was. He felt strangely proud of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter lives up to, like, three months of waiting. Kudos and comment if it did? *Laughs awkwardly at my need for validation from internet strangers*


	6. Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dakin pays yet another awkward visit to a rudely awakened Scripps, who is...less than delighted to greet such an overly-gelled twat during the early morning (or so he thinks). Posner faces some difficult decisions that he isn't allowed to handle himself.
> 
> "I held an atlas in my lap. ran my fingers across the world and whispered where does it hurt? it answered everywhere everywhere everywhere." - Warsan Shire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three months. It's been...three months. And some of you are still here. Still reading. THANK YOU!!!! Thank you for pulling me out of a creative slump and pulling me back out of reality and into the joys of 1980s Sheffield. (As a Northerner, you can take that as you will). I hope this lives up to whatever low, low, burgeoning expectations you may have had. And if it did, leave me comments and kudos because they make me feel warm and fuzzy and clever.
> 
> "Some people like what you do, some people hate what you do but most people simply don't give a damn," - Charles Bukowski.

Scripps thought it was quite rude to be woken up that early in the morning by Stuart bloody Dakin charging into his hospital room and he expressed it quite clearly. And quite colourfully. If he wasn’t sure what was drugs and what was reality, he thought he possibly saw the young nurse chuckle as she scurried out of the room. Dakin just stared at him blankly before arching a perfect eyebrow.

“Scripps, you know it’s like, mid-afternoon, right?” he smirked.

“What?” Scripps frowned confusedly. “No but…”

“Jesus, mate, how drugged up are you?” Dakin laughed, sitting down on the thin, awkward plastic chair. “You sound like you’re rivalling Timms,”

Scripps just grunted and flopped miserably back onto his freshly plumped pillows.

“I’m bored,” he sighed. “All I do is sleep or talk to my mother. And I think she might be running out of conversation material,”

“Really?” Dakin’s eyes widened. Scripps’ mother was a famously avid conversation maker, well-known for her tendencies to overrun book clubs and coffee mornings and cornering people in shops, turning quick shopping trips into hours long updates on every one of her five children.

“I know,” Scripps groaned. “She was telling me about the weakness of my cousin Sarah’s pelvic floor after childbirth this morning. As if I’ve got sympathy for a pelvic bloody floor when I’m lying here with a stab wound!”

“What the fuck is a pelvic floor?” Dakin replied, frowning.

“Fuck me if I know,” Scripps answered then frowned. “Actually, don’t. The whole asexual thing, you know?”

“Not like I was planning to, mate. Not really my type,”

“Oh, thanks!” Scripps huffed. “Am I really that unattractive?”

He stared up at the ceiling again and sighed.

“David thinks I’m handsome,” he muttered.

“Posner thinks you’ve hung the fucking moon and every star that goes with it,” Dakin rolled his eyes before his voice softened slightly. “You really miss him, hey?”

“Yeah, I bloody do,” Scripps mumbled miserably. “I just…I just want him. To touch him or hold him or kiss him or even just talk to him. And nobody tells me anything in here, I’m sick of it!”

“Hello Stuart,” a cold voice spoke behind him and Dakin blushed as Mrs Scripps’ eyes burned into the back of his neck.

“Afternoon, Mrs Scripps,” he muttered and vacated his seat, allowing her to sit down.

“Mum, when can I see David?” Scripps whined slightly, gazing at her with a furrowed brow. “I’m almost out of here, right?”

“A few more days till you’re up and walking, love, you’ll need to work on it a bit before you can,” his mother sighed, brushing his fringe off his face. “I’ll go see him later, if I can. To see if he wants to tell you anything,”

Something sparked in Dakin’s brain and he blurted.

“Posner’s parents are taking him back to Sheffield. I don’t know when,”

Scripps’ thin face paled and his mouth dropped open suddenly. He sat forward and stared, wide-eyed and terrified at an anxious-looking Dakin.

“No, no, they can’t!” he yelped frantically. “No, I’ve got to see him, I have to!”

“It’s alright, Don love, calm down!” his mother replied, trying to push him back onto his pillows as he leaned forwards, his eyes wild and panicked. “Calm down,”

Scripps struggled slightly before his face contorted in pain and he slumped back, breathless. His mother gazed worriedly at him, still stroking his hair.

“I was hoping to get your outpatient stuff moved to Sheffield, sweetheart, don’t you worry. You’ll get to see your David,”

Scripps glanced at his mother, eyes worried before whispering softly.

“You promise?”

“Look, mate, I can go see him now if you’d like,” Dakin fidgeted awkwardly. “I’ve not seen him for a couple days, actually. I should probably go anyway, he had therapy the other day,”

“Therapy?” Scripps frowned.

“Yeah,” Dakin nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighed. “Not…dealing with it great, I guess. Look, I should be going now, really, I’ll be…I’ll be back,”

The unspoken ambiguity of the time he’d be back hung in the stifling air as he turned on his heel and walked out, walked away from the cramped, white claustrophobia of the ICU walls and into the long, winding corridors leading to bright, airy wards where his surprising new confidante and friend would be waiting expectantly for his company. Only when he got there, the neat, crisp, clean hospital bed Posner had rested in was neat, crisp clean…and empty.

Oh shit, he thought to himself. They’ve taken him already.

***

Scripps wasn’t the only one looking forwards to a lie-in. Posner had been having one of the first blood-free dreams he’d had all week, one of him and Scripps walking through the park in the centre of Sheffield with their hands clasped together, before the rattling of glass bottles on a wobbling metal tray rudely awoke him. He opened his eyes blearily and groaned as the overly-cheery nurse smiled down at him.

“Well, good morning sunshine!” she smiled. “Are we feeling as chirpy as we did the other day?”

“No,” Posner replied flatly. “Is it abuse if I ask you to piss off?”

“It won’t be the worst thing I’ve heard, but it will be met with some painkillers into your buttocks,” she answered, raising an eyebrow.

Posner chuckled sleepily.

“Anyway, you should have reason to be happy today. You’re going home!”

Any sleepiness he had felt disappeared as he bolted upwards, his ribs groaning in protest as he did so. He stared at her, wide-eyed in horror as she smiled happily. Fear and dread coursed through his veins as he gulped, trying to rid his mouth of the cloying dryness inside of it.

“I can’t,” he croaked, hot tears swelling in his eyes. “I can’t,”

“You’re all clear to go, sweetie! We’ve got you nicely trained up on those crutches, we’ll pack you off with a wheelchair and you’ll have a lovely summer holiday with your parents, won’t you? You’re lucky at your Oxford, got holidays off from June till October and it’s only July!” she positively beamed at him as she measured out his medicines. “You’re lucky you had your accident in June, missing no lectures,”

Posner still stared, crumpling and releasing the sheets twisted under his fingers, his breath shaking and gasping into short puffs.

“No, no, no!” he yelled hoarsely. “No, I can’t go!”

“Now then Mr Posner, you need to calm yourself down or you’re going to injure yourself more,” she clucked, her lips pursing.

“Please don’t make me go, please,” Posner choked, the tears spilling down his cheeks. “I can’t leave him, I can’t,”

“Mr Posner, if you’re going to get hysterical then we might have to give you some form of sedation,” she pressed her hand onto his scrawny shoulder concernedly.

“You can’t,” Posner sobbed, his shoulders shaking. “You can’t,”

His vision blurred as a weight pressed into his chest, restricting his lungs. A ragged, guttural, choking noise ripped itself from his hoarse throat, mixed with the thick choked sobs he was emitting. Tremors shot round his body. Beads of sweat formed at his brow as he fought in desperation to gain control of his shaking limbs, wails and sobs ringing out.

“Nurse?” a distant voice shouted. “Nurse, over here please!”

He squeezed his eyes shut, burning hot and cold all over, fear gripping and jumbling inside. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He was trapped. He tried to call for help, but the cries he produced were unintelligible.

“Mr Posner? Mr Posner, we’re going to give you something to calm you down,” the distant voice warbled.

Vehemently, he attempted to shake his locked head, neck caught tight and rigid, but nothing happened and there was a sharp pain in his arm until he collapsed, exhausted, the tears still coating a glassy film over his eyes.

He watched under a haze of sleepiness as they folded his clothes, packed his things, cleared away the clutter of Get Well Soon cards that he hated, just hated because how the fuck would a flimsy piece of printed paper with flowers on help heal his broken leg, heal his broken mind, heal his broken heart?

Rough, work-worn hands manhandled him into a wheelchair, slumping him backwards and awkwardly positioning his stiff leg until he hissed in pain. Hospital corridors trundled past drearily until he saw his parents, formally dressed and clear in their neatly pressed suits and dresses, his mother smiling encouragingly, his father stone-faced and staring. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, trying to block them out.

“David?” his mother’s hopeful voice warped and twisted in his ears, eyes still tightly closed. “David, sweetie, we’ve come to take you home,”

“Your son is currently under some sedation, Mrs Posner,” a nurse’s firm but gentle voice replied. “He began to become hysterical during our discharge procedures,”

Posner wanted to yell at her, shout that he wasn’t hysterical, wasn’t going mad but his jaw was heavy and slow and the words were caught in his throat, struggling desperately to burst out. He heard his father’s disgruntled sigh and then the chair was moving forwards, out of the harsh clinical concrete block hospital and into the great unknown.


End file.
